


Indulgence

by Laikin394



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: M/M, OOC, PWP, Smut, cladois
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-05 01:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12179832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laikin394/pseuds/Laikin394
Summary: Jealous Alois tries to put his butler in his place. Claude finds his attempts laughable. Their little play for dominance ends up almost resolved in the bathroom. And then in the bedroom.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N 1)   
> **Indulgence** 1) the state or attitude of being indulgent or tolerant;  
>  2) a grant by the Pope of remission of the temporal punishment in purgatory still due for sins after absolution;  
> 3) an extension of the time in which a bill or debt has to be paid;  
> 4) Laikin following her Papi's orders and writing Cladois.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N 2) Smut starts in the second chapter.

Alois’s arm cuts through the air with a swish. The sound of his hand connecting with the skin is somehow obscene. The force of the smack would be enough to send anyone tumbling backwards. Claude, however, doesn’t lose his composure. The pink imprint of four uneven stripes blossoms on his skin, yet his face remains just as expressionless. He does not attempt to get up from his kneeling position. Instead, Claude adjusts his glasses calmly, the rustle of his exhale too faint to be registered.

“Your Highness, if I may ask…”

Another slap hits Claude’s right cheek.

“Look at me when I address you.”

Claude does exactly as he’s told, only the slightest furrow of his brow giving away his annoyance.

“Master, wou-…” Alois hits him again, layering this blow over the first one. He is really wasting his time with this, the sting of his smacks feeling not more than a tickle on the demon’s face. His pride, however, is a different matter. Claude’s patience is running low and he counts to five before trying to reason with his earl. “Master, may I suggest you stop this before you exert yourself?”

“I did not allow you to speak, Claude!” Alois’s voice goes up a pitch, making him sound more hysterical. The shriek leaves unpleasant ring behind. “Ugh! How dare you!”

Claude catches the boy’s arm by the slender wrist, preventing any further assault. It would be so easy to tighten his grip until he hears a crack. He vividly imagines the shattered bone piercing through the skin. It would be blissful.

Claude nudges the cuff of the shirt off the boy’s wrist, admiring the unmarred whiteness of the flesh. The skin is thin enough for him to see the complex pattern of veins underneath it, and if he concentrates, he will hear the steady hum of blood pumping through them. With his master agitated, the blood calls to him strongly. Claude presses his lips to the fluttering pulse point, soothing it with his touch. Soon enough he will be able to sink his teeth into his little prey. The anticipation makes his mouth water. Claude can feel his teeth getting longer at the thought and presses his tongue against the protruding canines.

He craves to get a proper taste and it will happen. Soon, but not today.

“After the way you looked at that  _dog Phantomhive_ you dare touch _me_?”

Ah, so this is what that little scene is about. Jealousy, again.

Alois continues playing to be offended but his attempts to pull his hand away are too weak to be genuine. Claude releases him nevertheless.

“Oh, but master,” he lowers his voice to a purr, enjoying the boy fidget in response, “my eyes are for you only.”

“Liar,” Alois spits out, the anger seeping out of him only to be replaced by bitterness.

“I do not desire anyone, but my master.”

“Liar,” he repeats, scrutinizing Claude through hooded eyes.

“Lies are nothing more than the facts one wishes not to believe,” Claude proclaims. Alois bends down, cupping the man’s chin. Claude finds the icy blue of his eyes is absolutely stunning, especially so when he can smell the rage bubbling under the surface of that slim body. Alois pinches his butler’s cheeks, pressing the junction at the jaw that forces his lips to part.

“Such unrefined deceit pours from that mouth of yours,” the boy drawls. “Such artless banalities. Say, Claude, are you losing your daintiness?” Alois traces the contours of the parted lips, probing the delicate flesh with the fingertips of his other hand. “You are a disgrace to a Trancy household.”

“Then, my Highness, please let me know how I shall mend this.” Claude touches his tongue to the fingers that were dancing on his lips a moment ago. Alois draws in a sharp breath. How easy it is to affect the little Earl. Alois’s hand trembles under the assault of a warm mouth wrapping around each of his digits in turn. He whimpers at the sensation of Claude’s tongue tickling the pads of his fingers and laving his knuckles.

“You’re utterly salacious, demon,” Alois hisses. Contrary to his words, the boy pushes his fingers deeper in the inviting moist heat of the caressing mouth. Claude watches his pupils widen, the darkness consuming the innocent blue. He knows he won again, he can sense the boy’s arousal. Truly, his little master is too easy to excite. He gives the two delicate fingers in his mouth a little suck, causing Alois to groan and press onto his tongue.

“You bore me,” the boy grunts, jerking his hand away. His fingers leave Claude’s mouth with an indecent wet plop. This is new. “I want you out of my sight. Tell Hannah to tend to me tomorrow.”

“But, your Highness…”

“Are you dense or deaf or both?” Alois scowls. He wipes his wet hand on his clothing. Claude’s nostrils flare as he tries to remain calm. The little show he put on is unappreciated by Alois despite his best calculations. Rejection isn’t something Claude is familiar with and it positively infuriates him. Could he really underestimate the little Earl? “I said I wanted Hannah to assist me from now on.”

Alois’s hand curls into a ball. Claude thinks that if the boy attempts to strike him again, he will break his arm for certain. Alois doesn’t move. Claude rises up, his gloved hands swiping over his tailcoat to brush off a speck of dust that isn’t even there.

“Very well, your Highness,” he gives the boy a curt bow. “Is that all?”

“It is,” Alois dismisses him with a flick of a wrist that makes Claude grit his teeth. “And will be, until you learn your lesson.”

***

Claude stands in the hallway right outside the grand doors of the master bedroom. The corner of his mouth twists in a lopsided smile, his mask of detachment slipping for just a second. There is no need to pretend, he knows the boy all too well. Claude expects to be called in at any moment, lured by the impatient shriek of his master holding equal amounts of worry and urge. Even after a year, Alois sounds like he is uncertain Claude would appear.

Claude all but licks his lips, savoring the tantrum to come. He darkly muses what kind of punishment awaits Hannah _this_ time. The demoness never attempts to heal the inflicted wounds, sentimentally displaying them as the evidence of being touched by her master. Everyone in the Trancy household knows that the young Earl doesn’t tolerate being touched by anyone other than his butler, thus the wench carries her marks for weeks, proudly lining them with bandages.

Claude can feel his skin tingle as he remains still, immovable as a statue. There are few pleasures for him in his duty. Fits of anger, when Alois screams at the top of his lungs and his face turns red with effort are among those rare moments of amusement. Claude strains his ears, the tips of his gloved fingers caressing the empty air. Any moment now. He draws in a breath, counting in his head.

_One, two, three…_

A muffled silvery laugh rolls from behind the shut doors. Claude blinks. Alois giggles again. It sounds wrong and Claude wastes a second to realize what is off. He has to go through his memory, where his master’s every quirk is stored. He has heard this laughter before, but the lack of anger or contained danger is too uncommon. Alois sounds….genuinely happy.

The doors swing open and the fully dressed Earl steps outside. The remnants of the smile slide off his face, changed by indifference. Once again, this is something unusual.

“It’s you,” he says, his voice cold.

Now, what is this new game? Alois might be a decent actor, yet they both know what kind of feelings he harbours for his butler. The feelings he has never been shy to enunciate.

“I thought I forbade you to come into my sight.”

Claude presses his hand over his heart, greeting his master with a bow.

“Your highness gave me no such order.”

“Hmm what was it then?”

“To have the maid assist you today.”

“Ah. Well,” Alois makes a vague gesture of dismissal, already looking bored with that conversation.

“Perhaps his highness should be more considerate when voicing his desires… Next time,” Claude adds, keeping his voice polite yet allowing the venom to seep into his words. Alois frowns, his lips pursed in a rather unattractive grimace.

“Hannah,” the boys crooks his finger, beckoning the maid behind his back to step closer. “Come.”

She obeys, standing an inch shy from being at Alois’s side. Her head is lowered and her hands are neatly folded on top of her skirts. Claude is repulsed by her awkward submission.

“Hannah, say, is Claude taking too many liberties, pointing out to me what _I_ meant by _my_ order?”

Claude shoots the maid a warning glance, the mere narrowing of his eyes enough to convey that she shouldn’t speak against him. A slight tremor runs through Hannah and she hangs her head lower.

“Well?” Alois snaps, turning his head to the side. “It’s a simple question, yes or no?”

“I’m afraid I am not in a position to judge Mr. Faustus, your highness.”

“Stupid,” Alois mumbles. “But it doesn’t matter. _I_ get to decide whether he did anything wrong or not. Isn’t that so, Claude?”

“Certainly, your Highness.”

Alois smiles, his whole face lighting up. The boy cocks his head to the side, tapping his finger on his chin as he thinks. His eyes search for something, darting from the man’s face to his impeccably shiny shoes and finally stop on his pristine gloves. Alois claps his hands, bouncing in place in a sudden rush of delight.

“I know, I know!” he chirps. “Your task for today would be to clean all of the toilet rooms. And the chamber pots. And the sewers!”

“At once, master. I shall order Thompson and…”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Alois’s playfulness is gone in a blink. His face contorts as he steps closer to Claude, teeth bared in a snarl. “I said _you_ would do it, Claude, and I meant for you to do it yourself. That’s an order.” There’s a familiar prickle on the back of Claude’s hand as the contract seal responds to a direct command. “No trickery. I forbid you to ask Hannah, the triplets or anyone to assist you, lest you desire to perform the task with your tongue.”

Alois points his finger at Claude as if it could deliver his order better.

“Understood, master. Shall I proceeded immediately?”

“Aren’t you going to try to talk your way out of this task?” Alois coos. “If you beg me nicely, I may reconsider.”

Claude looks down at the smug little face, not giving away his own emotions.

“There is no need for that, master. I am honoured to be in your service, however mundane the tasks may be.” Claude watches the joy draining out of the little Earl, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout. A silly gesture, befitting a child whose mischief didn’t play out. The disappointment is so evident across his features that Claude thinks if he were to pinch the boy’s cheeks, he would be able to pluck it of like a veil. "Now, I shall excuse myself, your Highness. I assume I must squeeze your request in my already tight schedule.“

Claude bows and makes his exist with his back impossibly straight and as much dignity as he can muster. He happens to have plenty of it; enough to last through the lifetimes of several masters worse than the young Earl Trancy.

Alois has never possessed the patience to think anything through. It comes in handy, of course, and Claude is not about to tell the little Earl that everything that follows after the words “ _it’s an order”_ can be disregarded by him without any consequence. Certainly, were he a truly loyal servant, he might be inclined to follow the commands to the last letter. In case of cleaning up the sewer pipes and the chamber pots, Claude finds it unnecessary. The direct order was not to ask for any assistance, yet Alois never specified the task was to be performed physically.

All Claude has to do is snap his fingers, letting the tiniest bit of his powers ooze out to complete his master’s silly request. What was his intention? Such work couldn’t be pleasant for a human with a sense of smell, yet Claude would be a lot more humiliated was he a slave to the daily expel of waste. Nevertheless, he feels annoyed.

Alois is clearly trying to get under his skin, too forward and artless, but Claude likes it this way, feasting on the Earl’s frustration. He wants to see how far Alois’s unskilled revenge will go and for that he is prepared to tolerate childish orders. That’s not the first time he does, anyways.

Claude unhurriedly walks to the kitchen, briefly stopping in front of a large mirror in the hallway. He adjusts his glasses and admires his perfect attire. Chaos into order, hatred into apathy, a demon into a butler - those are his ways.

Claude brushes his knuckles on the door of the Earl’s study, balancing a tea tray in his left hand.

“Your highness, I have brought your pre-lunch treats.” This ridiculous ceremony was established by Alois only to give the servants an extra whim to cater to.

“Ah, Claude,” Alois exclaims, rising up from a leather sofa. “Claude,” he drawls, full lips curling into a smile as if repeating the name over and over brought him joy. He almost leans against the man, rubbing his face on his shirt. Alois rises to stand on his toes. He grabs the lapels of Claude’s tailcoat, steadying himself as he sways a little, despite his butler remaining perfectly still. “You know what, Claude?” Alois whispers. He squirms and wiggles, trying to pull himself higher. He throws his head back, desperate for an eye contact. Claude looks directly in front of himself, awaiting an order, the tea tray in his hand immobile. Alois sighs. He tucks his head under the Claude’s chin, barely tall enough to do that even in his heeled boots.

“Claude,” he calls again. His finger is playing with the buttons of the crisp white shirt, plucking on them. Occasionally, his hand sneaks in the gap he created. “Are you mad?”

“No, your Highness.”

“I would be,” Alois confesses. “You are so much better than me. Always so collected… So proper.”

“A butler is nothing more than a reflection of his master’s virtues.”

“Well then…” Alois giggles. His hand leaves the buttons of the shirt. Two of his fingers make way to Claude’s cravat. The boy yanks it off, letting out a victorious squeal as he jumps away with his prize. He pushes his lips out and tucks the black ribbon under his nose. The fabric droops over the boy’s mouth akin to lengthy mustache. Alois puts his hands on his hips, turning sideways and watching Claude from the corner of his eye.

“How do I look?” he mumbles. The ribbon, worried by the movement, slides down. Alois catches it, retuning his improvised mustache back onto his face.

“Unseemly.”

Alois huffs.

“And you… You reek!” Alois accuses, the ribbon clenched in his fist. It is, of course, ridiculous as Claude possesses no body odour. His suit smells like freshly pressed laundry. The faint aroma of vanilla he added to the cake still clings to his hands. Otherwise, he is free from any stink a human would emit.

“Your highness, haven’t you refer to me as proper just a moment ago?”

“I was trying to be nice to you.”

“I am eternally grateful for this,” Claude says, his voice anything but delighted.

“Yes, well, we can’t have you walk around like that,” Alois hums. “Oh, I know what we should do.” The boy reaches the door in two jumps, pulling it open. “Hannah! Draw me a bath! Now!” he screams. It doesn’t even occur to him that Hannah may be someplace else in the house. Alois is so used to obedience of his servants that details like whether his orders are heard do not occupy him. He isn’t wrong. Hannah is likely to be around, drawn to the boys soul even more than Claude, ridiculously blunt in her obsession.

“Does my master wishes to bathe?”

“Your master,” he mocks, “your master wishes for his servant to cease smelling like a pig who rolled in dirt all day.”

“I assure you I did none of the sort.”

Alois wraps his arms around his middle and laughs. He continues giggling, a new fit rolling over to shake through his body. There are tears at the corner of his eyes and the boy wipes them away after he lets out the last chuckle.

“Oh Claude, look at you! You can’t even respond to an insult!”

“My master’s observations about me are of a great importance.”

“Mhmm,” Alois agrees, ignoring the venom of his words. “Come.”

“What about your tea, your Highness?”

“Leave it. Hannah will bring it to my bedroom or something. I want you to get cleaned up immediately.”

“As you say, master.” Claude puts the tea tray on the desk, his movements brisk and precise. “Your Highness, if I may have my cravat back?..”

“Why would you need that for bathing?”

Claude says nothing. He adjusts his glasses and follows his master. Alois skips, humming to himself. The thud of his feet is muffled by the carpet, while Claude walks soundlessly. The boy turns several times to check if Claude is still there. His smile grows wider every time his eyes meet his butler’s impassioned stare. Hannah greets them at the bedroom door.

“I have prepared a bath for you, master,” she says meekly. The drooping corners of her mouth are so annoying. How many times has Claude reminded her to be neutral instead of maintaining this pity-inducing grimace? Alois scoffs.

“Yes, yes, now get lost.”

“Hannah, bring the master tea to his bedroom. He wishes to take it there after his bath. Make sure it’s the perfect temperature and not the boiling slops. Like the last time.”

Hannah makes a little curtsy in acknowledgment of the command. Alois's culinary tastes are hardly refined, yet every time Hannah prepared him tea, the drink was rejected. Too hot, not hot enough, too bitter, too brown, served in a wrong cup or brought too late… Claude has spent a fair share of income on replacing the shattered pots and aprons coloured from the spilled tea.

“Claude, let’s go.” Alois tugs on his hand. “Claude!”

He allows himself to be pulled across the bedroom into a smaller joining chamber. Alois shuts the door, leaning against it.

“Undress. It’s a bath for _you_ , remember?” Claude looks at him over his glasses. “Do you want me to close my eyes?” Alois quickly tucks the black ribbon into his breast pocket and covers his face with his palms. “No promises I won’t peek,” he adds hastily, spreading his fingers. Claude stares into the blue eyes, crinkled up from the smile still plastered to the boy’s face.

“If my master so desires…”

“He does.”

Claude removes his spectacles, folding their arms with a click.

“Here, I’ll help.” Alois takes them and puts them on a stool placed next to the tub. Claude peels his glove off under the boy’s attentive glare. “Ooh, use your teeth to take it off!”

Claude disregards the remark. He pinches the other glove at the tips of his fingers, sliding it off to reveal his contract mark. Alois’s eyes are glued to the pentagram and Claude’s dark nails.

“You are all contrasts, light and dark and no compromises in-between. Except for your eyes… and this.” He steps forward and raises his hand to his face, studying the seal. He traces the slightly raised contours with his fingers, as if he saw it for the first time. The heat of his touch pulses trough Claude, the direct contact with the mark too intense.

“Master, I would need my hand if I were to comply with your order.”

Alois breaks from his task. He looks lost, as if he forgotten about his command.

“Ah. Right.”

He makes a little sigh. Even the faint pressure of exhaled air against the back of his contract seal results in a surge of exquisite pleasure. Claude grits his teeth, fighting the urge to hide it behind his gloves. He loathes being so vulnerable, so exposed. The mere possibility of Alois touching the mark again thrills him and he despises it. The darkness inside him curls, ready to burst out, eager to re-establish the claim. It’s a different kind of hunger but Claude refuses to be enslaved by it.

“Will that make you do it faster?“ Alois turns away. His voice lacks the smugness. "Don’t make me wait.”

Claude shrugs his coat off, meticulously unbuttons the shirt and neatly folds it on top of the discarded items. He wouldn’t want his uniform to crease but it can’t be avoided. Alois is still facing away, his thin fingers digging into shoulders as he hugs himself. Claude unties his shoes, tucking his white socks in them. The marble floors are chilly under his bare feet, but not unpleasant. Alois was right about him, he muses. The clothes he sheds are of contrasting but alternating colours; white undergarments come to rest on top of black trousers.

“I believe I have complied with your order fully, master.” The polite wording smooths the ironic edge to the statement. Alois swings on his heels, watching him wide-eyed. Claude could ask if anything was to his liking, but he already knows he’s a picture of perfection. The boy looks at him with more curiosity than lust, his eyes raking down the gloriously naked body. Instead of glaring at parts normally hidden by the tightly shut suit, Alois stares back into his eyes. Subconsciously, his face becomes expressionless, unreadable, as if by mimicking Claude’s detachment he could penetrate his thoughts. Claude likes it little.

“What are you waiting for?” Alois asks, the first to grow tired of the silent staring contest. “Get in.”

Claude is tempted to provoke him, stretching his limbs to display himself. He resists and climbs into the tub, leaning back against the smooth copper rim. Alois hops closer. He tugs on his sleeves, shedding the purple overcoat. He rolls the cuffs of his shirt up. The boy is clumsy, growing unaccustomed to taking care of his clothes so soon after getting a butler. Alois yanks on the uncooperative sleeve, bunching the fabric to keep it up and in place. He grabs a washcloth and turns his head, looking for soap. He has to let go of the cloth and dart to the chest of drawers in the corner of the room to retrieve it.

Alois cocks his head, watching the cloth through the water. It sank, modestly obscuring Claude’s nether regions.

“Um… Claude, would you mind getting it out for me?” Alois’s cheeks become flushed. It’s rather ironic how calm he remained a moment ago when Claude was completely naked but chose to get flustered when he’s actually covered.

“Certainly,” Claude agrees non-nonchalantly. He pulls the fabric out of the water and hands it to the boy. Their fingers touch briefly.

“Dunk,” Alois instructs, soaping up the washcloth. Claude has to bend his knees to slide underwater. He submerges himself, counting to ten before resuming his previous position. He keeps his hands at his sides, his face neutral. Alois runs the cloth over his chest several times, working up the lather. He’s bad at this. Alois manages to cover himself in soap more than Claude. Despite his precautions, his left sleeve droops down and is already soaked. Alois helps himself with his other hand, his fingers raking through the foam and uncovering patches of pale skin underneath it. He gets more and more enthusiastic. Claude does nothing to stop the pressure of the boy’s palm on his chest.

“Wow,” Alois whispers. His hand freezes, nails grazing against the defined pecks. “Claude, I would never suspect you to have a heart!” Claude turns his head, meeting the boy’s eyes. They are crinkled with amusement at his own remark. Not for long though. He watches disbelief and fear alter them, turning wider and wider. “Wha-? How… Could you do that? And….you are still alive?”

“I need a heart only for my disguise to be indistinguishable from a human, master. I have no use for it otherwise.”

Alois pushes his hand down. Shockingly, there is nothing, no flutter or pulse or a dull thud of a beating heart.

“It’s a useful trick, your Highness, for when I need to make no sound.”

“How odd,” Alois says. “But you won’t… You won’t die of this, will you, Claude?”

“No, although I may experience minor discomfort.”

“Start it back.”

The tension drains out of the boy as the heartbeat resumes. Was he really worried that much?

“What else can you do?”

“I can do anything my master orders me to.”

“Ooh,” Alois seems pleased by the response, a smile returning to his lips. “And what can I do to you?”

“Everything your Highness believes to be a fit behaviour for the noble Earl of Trancy.”

“Do you like when I do this?” Alois inquires, stroking his fingers across Claude’s chest.

“I enjoy any kind of attention my master chooses to give me.”

“Is there anything you would like me to do?”

“It would never occur to me to ask my master for any favours. I am perfectly content as it is.”

“You are incredibly dull, Claude.” Alois throws the washcloth into his face, bolting up. Claude plucks it off, letting it drop into the floor. “Look at me, I am Claude Faustus.” Alois picks up his glasses from a stool, putting them on. He pushes the spectacles in place, the gesture copied after Claude perfectly. The tone, however, is too far off, causing him to sound like a yapping pup. “And I will bore you to death before our contract is complete.”

Alois chuckles. Apparently, he ran out of wit and all he can do is stretch his arms and swirl around the room. Claude shuts his eyes. Boring, he says? Claude stretches his arm over the edge of the tub.

 _Plop_.

Water drips from the his blackened fingertips. It pools of the floor, the soft slosh left unnoticed by Alois. The boy spirals around the room, coming closer and closer until…

Alois yelps as he slips on the wet floor. He shuts his eyes, his face scrunched up in anticipation of the pain to come. Strong hands catch him only a moment before he cracks his skull against the edge of the tub.

“Claude! You caught me!”

“I was performing my duty, your highness.” Claude picks his glasses off the boy, returning them onto his face.

“Don’t say that,” Alois pouts. He doesn’t attempt to escape, looking up at his butler as he’s arched backwards, supported only by Claude’s hands.

“As my master commands.”

“I want to know what you think,” Alois continues. “How you truly feel. What you would like to do if you didn’t have my orders to follow.”

“I would like to consume my master,” Claude says slowly. “Devour him. Swallow him whole.” He bends even lower, towering over Alois. The boy in his arms begins to tremble. Claude could count every little freckle scattered across the bridge of his slightly turned-up nose and his pale cheeks. His eyes are so wide they seem inhuman. Claude catches the glimpse of red in them, the reflection of his own burning eyes. He hopes he appears to be menacing enough. Any sane person would have already run away, but Alois seems mesmerised, voluntarily trapped in the demon’s embrace.

“I would pierce you through and sink my teeth in you,” Claude continues, his voice so thick he could wrap the boy in it. Alois’s tongue darts out to moisten his bitten lips and Claude suppresses a hungry growl. He senses the quickening of the boy’s pulse, either at familiarity he used or the threats Claude’s mouth spills. “I would drink your sweet essence, tightening my grip around your neck as you thrash in attempts to escape. I would let go only to dig my fingers into you, listening to your cries for mercy as I tear you apart.”

Alois whimpers. The drops of water falling from Claude’s damp hair land on his face, trickling down. They look like fake tears, sliding off the pretty face at uneven intervals. The Earl swallows audibly, his Adam’s apple bulging. Claude breaks eye contact to admire the slender column of his throat presented to him so thoughtlessly.

“I would attempt to be utmost careful at the start, but after I get the first taste, there would be no need for that. I would mark you with my fangs, burn you with my tongue and paint red onto your skin.”

“Claude…” Alois whispers, his eyes becoming moist.

“Yes, your Highness?”

“Your eyes… I have never seen them like this.” A tentative hand cups the side of his face.

“I do apologize. Allow me to alter them.” It takes a blink for the demon to change them back from the dark purple to molten gold, the slanted pupils morphing into a more common circular shape. “Is this better to your liking, master?”

“Do you truly desire me that much?”

“Indeed I do, master.” Alois watches him in awe, panting. There is something akin to endearment in his face, as he looks up at Claude, unafraid. “T-then why don’t you do it right now? If I am your most wanted meal?”

“Ah but this is not the truth, my lord,” Claude hovers over the boy’s face, his lips almost grazing against his skin as the speaks. “The meal I long for the most… The thing I dream of savouring is… Ciel Phantomhive’s soul.”

Claude can pin point the exact moment Alois’s heart shatters. His eyes quickly fill with tears, overflowing in a matter of seconds. The boy chokes, writhing out of his hands. And then he screams. The anger and frustration burst out of him in a powerful shriek.

“I hate you. Hate you!” he wails. “I wish you would die and rot and I never had to see you again!”

“You say the sweetest things, your Highness,” Claude mutters to himself. He slides back into the tub and shuts his eyes to enjoy the melody of Alois storming through his bedroom, shouting curses and crashing things. He basks in the glorious intensity of his emotions, soaking them in.

Claude slowly raises his hand to his mouth, sticking his tongue out to pick up a droplet of the boy’s tears, fresh and hot on the pads of his fingers.

Delicious.

***

“I don’t need you!” Alois screeches, his voice echoing through the bedroom. Despite his words, Claude can sense the unspoken summoning. The boy wants to be reassured even when his mouth dispels the spite. Claude waits, aware that his master hasn’t reached his boiling point yet.

There is a thud and a surprised yelp. Hannah must have been careless again. Claude gets out of the tub when the unpleasant itch from the contract seal crawls deeper under his skin.

“Scum! Filthy demons!”

“Filthy?” Claude repeats, rolling the word in his tongue. He raises his brows in polite interest. “Should I order Hannah to bathe too then? I believe, the water in the tub is still hot.”

“Aargh!” Alois picks up and flings a saucer at Claude, aiming for his face. The man catches it with little effort, his palm large enough to accommodate the delicate circle of china. Claude tightens his grip, squeezing his fingers around until it crumbles, the shattered pieces falling to his feet.

“No!” Alois rushes to him, dropping onto his knees. He sticks his hand into the little heap of shards. “Claude, what did you do? It was my favourite!” He pushes his hand up for Claude to examine the chipped triangle with blue and golden swirls. “My favourite,” Alois repeats in a whisper, clutching the piece of china to his chest and rocking from side to side slightly. “And you destroyed it.”

“Your Highness, I…” Claude doesn’t finish the sentence, freezing in place. He inhales, pressing his tongue to his palate. He can almost taste the sweetness in the air, both sharp and delicate, rich and positively intoxicating. He watches Alois’s blood trickle down his arm and drop onto the patch of skin between the boy’s shorts and stockings. Claude locks his eyes with the little Earl. His mouth waters, a whip of excitement shooting down his spine as he watches the realization of his hunger reflect in those blue eyes. A deep rambling growl resonates through his chest.

Hannah darts forward, breaking the moment. She pulls Alois up in her embrace, swinging him around and away in a futile effort to protect him from Claude. Startled, Alois remains quiet and pliable in her grip, but not for long.

“Let me go, let me go, lemme go this instant,” he wails, squirming to get away. “Idiot! I said release me!” She does as she’s bid. Alois pants, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. “Go!” he barks, giving the maid a rough shove. “Leave! Now! _Now!”_

“Master,” she pleads, “allow me to…”

“Shut up,” Alois croaks. “Get out of my sight!” He pushes her out, shutting the door promptly. He pants, struggling to regain his composure. “Cla-aude.” He makes several steps towards his butler, stopping every now and then. The boy rolls from heel to toe of his boots, hesitant as to whether he should approach the man. His first is still clenched against his chest, the blood soaking into the frilly cuff of his shirt. Alois doesn’t seem to mind the pain nor the blotches of blood blossoming on his shirt like poppies. “Claude,” he giggles, “why are you naked?”

“My sincerest apologies for presenting myself in such a way.”

“You will be pardoned if you drop this.” Alois smacks Claude’s hand which holds the towel around his waist.

Claude’s nostrils flare as the overpowering smell of the boy’s blood wraps around him. Following the silent beckoning, he allows the towel to slide to the floor, making no move to cover himself.

“Claude,” Alois chants. “You look…” the boy shakes his head. “Never mind. Bet you want _this_ , don’t you?” He wiggles his fingers, finally dropping the shred of saucer onto the carpet. “Does it… excite you?” He raises his hand, watching the thin trails of blood wrap around his wrist like a ribbon. “Wouldn’t you want a taste, Claude?” Alois throws his head back, sticking his tongue out to catch the thick ruby drop. It misses, splotching onto his mouth. “Answer me!”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Kneel.” Alois’s fingers cover his lips with red, smearing it around. He parts them in a silent offering, inches from Claude’s face. He does his best to appear to be lascivious, from his hooded eyes to his back arched as if under a lover’s caress. “And beg,” he breathes.

Despite the hunger, Claude feels repulsed. He can tell it’s fake, it _smells_ fake. The whole thing is so vulgar that it takes significant effort from him not to scowl. He knows the boy is desperate for his attention, but trying to achieve it in such a raffish way is simply revolting. What does he think will happen? That Claude will succumb to what is offered so easily, crawling to lick up the blood from the boy’s lips, artless and grunting like a beast? That he’ll plunge his tongue into that small mouth, drinking his cries, seeking more of the taste, whining and desperate?

Claude has no desire to sample anything tainted by the pretense. It already tastes foul.

“Beg”, Alois repeats. He sticks the tip of his tongue out, running it over his top lip. A weak attempt at seduction. It’s a pity that this is the only way the boy thinks he can get noticed. Claude lifts his glasses onto his forehead, calmly regarding his master without any shield between them.

“Why would I do such a thing?”

“Because you want it and these are the rules I made.”

“Oh but if I were to do it, I’d much rather have _you_ submit to me willingly, demanding for me to take you.”

He cups the boy’s face, fixing his unblinking stare on the widened blue eyes. He watches the haughtiness waiver. Claude makes a note to balance out his indifference.

“So you do want me then, don’t you, Claude?” There is hope and mistrust and a tad of confusion that make Claude’s skin tingle. He takes them in, enjoying the heat of sincerity and the ever-changing richness of the boy’s unstable feelings. How marvelously unpredictable they can be, how complicated he makes everything appear.

Yet, he hasn’t yet seen what he was looking for. He concentrates harder, ceasing to fight the magnetic pull of longing that floats right on the surface.

Ah, there they are, the eluding traces of madness he has cultivated so carefully. It would take very little to turn them into a soaring blaze of insanity, but Claude is reluctant to cut the fun short. His little toy is so fragile and yet stubbornly strong at times. The constant whirls of emotion his soul radiates are quite addictive. He will keep playing till either of them grows weary of this dance.

“Most certainly, master.” Claude brushes his lips over the quivering eyelids. What a hell of a feast the boy will make. “But let’s get you cleaned up first.”

Claude puts his hand on the boy’s shoulder, coaxing him to turn around and march to the bathroom. Alois takes a step and trips. Claude catches him and the boy hisses as his butler’s palm squeezes over the fresh cut on his hand. He suspects that the boy is purposefully testing his patience and is about to chide Alois on clumsiness, but then decides against it. He picks him up and Alois yelps, throwing his arms around Claude’s neck.

“That’s unnecessary,” he protests meekly. Alois curls against his chest as he speaks, tucking his face in the crook of the man’s shoulder. His moist lashes tickle Claude’s skin every time he blinks. “But feels so nice.”

“Please do not get used to it, your highness. I am no mule to be ridden.”

“Oh?” Alois purrs.

Claude can almost sense the wheels in the boy’s head turning. It’s not difficult to predict what kind of response he’ll get. The Earls thoughts and quips gravitate towards profanities and lewd scenarios. Claude makes an unspoken promise to himself to drop the insufferable child as soon as he mentions riding him in another way.

“Am I too heavy?”

“No, your Highness.” There is something deeply perverse in cradling the boy like that. Claude finds the weight in his arms reassuring, as the promise of his hunger being sated becomes more tangible. He steps over the threshold of the bathroom and stops. Alois is reluctant to climb down, locking his hands behind the man’s neck.

“Claude,” he whispers, “you’re warm.”

What a worthless observation.

“I am most grateful y-you-” Claude stutters as his neck receives a long lick. His toes curl when the contract mark on Alois’s tongue touches his skin. The jolt of pleasure shoots through him with a force of a cracking whip. “-approve of the selected temperature.”

Alois hums against him, too preoccupied to note the effect his actions had. To Claude’s horror, he does it again. This time Claude’s legs buck under the intensity of it, his vision swimming. He sucks the air through his teeth, lowering the boy down.

“Does my touch disgust you that much?”

Alois mistakes it for suppressed rage, oblivious of his ability to drive the demon insane. Claude is perfectly fine with it. He chose to mark the boy’s tongue out of practical reasons – it is hard to detect yet still visible when needed. He could never imagine it would come in contact with him. Unfortunately, Alois has always stuck out like a sore thumb, seldom caring about boundaries. He simply had to be an exception and uncover the drawback the seal had. Was there even a limit of their bond Alois didn’t seek to stretch?

“No, your highness.”

“Would Ciel Phantomhive’s touch be more welcome?” Alois is practically hissing. Claude blinks.

“No, your highness,” he repeats. At that moment he does not wish for the shameful stimulation to be imposed on him by anybody.

“Trickster,” the boy spits. Ironically enough, that’s the name commonly associated with the Phantomhive’s butler, but Claude does not share this with the boy.

He picks up the washcloth and squeezes most of water out of it. Claude wipes off the boy’s face first, removing the traces of tears and blood. Alois frowns.

“Why are you like this? Pretending to care all of a sudden?”

“I am not pretending, your highness. My master’s wellbeing is my greatest concern.”

Claude dabs the cut on the boy’s palm. It’s not deep so it shouldn’t take long to heal. He wants to stick his nose into it, taking in the concentrated fragrance. He wishes he could run his tongue across the clean edge and to memorize every nuance of the complex taste. Instead, he reaches back to protrude a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and wraps the blindingly white fabric around the narrow palm.

“But you still would want Ciel’s soul?”

“Indeed.”

“But why?”

“Do you prefer only certain type of a meal, your highness? If given a choice between two delicacies, would you stop at one or attempt to sample both?”

“Thus I am no more than a serving of a meal to you.”

Tenacious fingers force Claude to look up.

“You knew the consequences of our arrangement, master. Am I not fulfilling my part diligently? Do you not have everything you could desire for?”

“Not everything.”

Alois ducks to kiss him. He isn’t shy to use the tip of his tongue, prying Claude’s lips open. At least he’s modest enough and the contract seal placed further down on his tongue remains hidden. The boy presses his mouth harder, nibbling and sucking, intent on getting a response. He could just as well be kissing a statue. Alois bites him, trying to get a reaction, anything – a hiss of pain or a rough shove. At this point he would be glad to have Claude acknowledge he is being kissed, yet nothing happens.

“Damn you, Claude!”

“Ah, so this is what my master desires?” Claude wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “If you are so eager to bed me, why not just order it?”

He does nothing to avoid the blow to his face.

“I see it now,” Alois sneers. His icy voice could cut through stone. “You are nothing more than an imitation of a man. A pathetic one at that. Since you are incapable of anything other than cleaning up, tidy up in here and spare me of your detestable presence.”

He attempts to walk away, so full of scorn and pride that Claude wants to grab him and shake him until Alois’s head rattles. He snarls, clasping the boys arm and yanking him back.

“Master, haven’t I taught you any better? It is extremely rude to turn away from someone who’s talking to you,” he lectures. “And it’s beyond unwise to turn your back on a demon.”


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm weary of you reminding me of your nature. Even a brainless parrot has a more amusing range of phrases to deliver. Now let - go." Alois tries to pull his arm away from the man's clutches. "Claude!"

The seal burns him for his disobedience. It gets harder and harder to ignore yet Claude holds on stubbornly. He uncurls his fingers for a fracture of a second, too brief for Alois to notice. The contract counts it as a fulfillment of the command. Oh, the delightful little technicalities.

"C-Claude! Didn't you hear what I said?"

"I did, your Highness. At first, you generously offered to prostrate yourself for me and now you implied I lacked wit."

"I commanded you to release me!" The undignified trembling of his voice is a skillful play, but Claude can see beyond that. He senses the fear and confusion and he raises the boys wrist to his face. He inhales, savouring the peculiar mix of emotions that combine in a most sophisticated concoction. There is something Claude hasn't detected before, an odd kind of fear. Normally, he would strive to elicit more of it, but this one is too sharp and sour, morphing into outright bitter.

"Is it the prospect of my disobedience that terrifies you, master? I assure you, I am still your loyal servant." His words are laced with enough mockery to plant seeds of doubt in the boy's head despite being what he wants to hear. Alois doesn't respond and the sourness lingers on his skin. "Or do you dread my rejection?"

"Ridiculous. I could bend you to my will if I desired."

"Is that so?" Claude parts his lips. It's not quite a smile, but it makes his face look unsettling. "Why don't you go ahead?"

"It's too easy," Alois keeps trying to pry his hand out of the grip. He is visibly unsettled by the failed attempt.

"Is it, now?"

"Ah. So that's what you crave, Claude? Being ordered around, being my puppet?"

"Only to spare you the humiliation and the consequence of inviting a demon between your legs so insistently."

"How dare you!" Alois's anger surges through his veins, colouring his skin the delicate hue of pink.

Precious.

"Claude, you... You... " he groans, unable to find a suitable sentence to put his butler in his place. The boy's nails are digging into the skin hard enough to draw blood again. Claude curls his upper lip, allowing his fangs to show. He drags his tongue over them, hearing Alois's breath hitch.

"How many times have you called my name today, master? If you like it so much, perhaps we should test if you equally enjoyed screaming it."

Alois huffs. And again. The gurgling sound soon turns into a laughter, dark and mocking, stripped of any mirth. The smell of fear retracts. Claude grits his teeth. How dare that child giggle at his threats.

"Claude, I was so wrong thinking you were special. Demon or not, you're just like them." The laughter stops abruptly. Alois narrows his eyes. His features twist with scorn. His parted lips, touching to form the words, drop them with disgust. "Do you believe you could make me experience anything Papa Trancy hasn't had me do?" Claude's brow twitches. He dares to compare _him_ to some vermin, to a useless slob of human meat? Alois hisses when the fingers tighten around his wrist. Yet he manages to squeeze out a smile, enjoying how his butler's ever-present stoic expression is discarded in favour of poorly contained irritation.

"What's the matter, Claude? Having self-control issues?" The pressure on his arm lightens up, yet Alois doesn't bother to thank him for it. "Or you want to complete in prowess with my daddy? Too bad you won't have a chance, I will easily prevent you from bringing me pain."

"Is that an order, master?"

"Yes! Yes it is. Claude, I forbid you from bringing me physical pain." The contract seal pulses, signaling that the command has been registered. Too bad the Earl didn't specify the length of imposed restriction. "Now let go, you dimwit."

"Yes, your Highness."

Claude releases the boy's arm. He grabs Alois by the waist, swinging him around.

"What? Ah! Claude!" Alois protests, fighting against the pressure of the man's hand on his back, pushing him forward. "What in hell are you doing?"

"Language, master," Claude snaps. "As to your inquiry, I'm following your order." He moves his palm down the boys back, appreciating the fine fabric of his clothing and the heat of the slender body underneath. "And my promise."

"Claude!"

"See, master, you are screaming my name already."

"I prohibited you to hurt me."

"What kind of butler would I be if I were unable to find other ways to keep my word? "

"Claude. Claude!" Alois rasps as the man's tongue probes the skin of his thigh over the edge of his high socks.

"You are doing so well master, please continue."

"H-haa," Alois gasps. He makes another inarticulate noise before letting out a keen.

That will do nicely. Claude licks the thin patch of skin that has tantalized him for ages. He likes the ritual of dressing up the boy, sliding the fine woolen stockings up the slender legs. He may then allow himself the liberty of running his hands up the covered calf, still thin enough to fit in the ring his thumbs and index fingers of both hands make. He often adjusts the stockings by hooking his fingers under the top, pretending to uncurl them before he clasps the suspenders on them. They both follow the unspoken rules of the little game. Claude plays to be professional, stroking the protruding bones of the ankle and holding the narrow foot in his hand before sliding the boot over it. Alois pretends not to notice, even if his breath becomes hitched more often than not, particularly during the undressing.

Claude presses his tongue against the heated skin, over and over. Alois is thrashing, his body arching as if he couldn't make up his mind on whether he wants to get away or move closer. Ticklish, perhaps? Claude's tongue slithers lower, teasing the skin close to the stripe of suspenders. He groans, recalling that he wasn't the one to fasten them this morning, the notion quire irritating. Hannah would love to be in his position, too bad he doesn't plan to share.

His hands continue to roam that alluring pair of legs, tracing the shape he already has memorized perfectly. Claude pulls on the bows in front of the tall boots, letting the cool atlas of the ribbon slide between his fingers before becoming undone. He is meticulous, indulging himself to do it slowly. Alois is kept distracted enough with the nips to his thighs to complain. His skin breaks into goosebumps, creating a wonderful texture for Claude's tongue to explore. His mewls become more frequent and pitched, their artless tune broken by quickened breaths.

Claude helps him out of each boot, peeling them off in a practiced move. He removes the skimpy shorts as well, calmly glaring at the bare unmarred skin. He decides the stockings should stay.

Alois fidgets, trying to glance over his shoulder. Claude pushes on his lower back, making him lean forward.

“Eek!”

“Come again, master?” Claude pauses before repeating the lick, swiping his tongue between the boy's arse cheeks up to his tail bone in one fluid stroke. “I'm afraid I failed to comprehend what you were saying.”

“Mmph.” Alois must have clasped his hand over his mouth as his gasps come out muffled. That will not do. Claude pulls on his elbow, forcing the boy's arm down. “Cl...aah!”

Claude pays him no mind. He cups the boy's buttocks, pushing them apart to get a better reach. He feels him tremor, as his fingers knead the firm muscle, providing additional stimulation. Claude licks and licks and _licks,_ the choked moans music to his ears. He alters the pressure, from light to insistent, careful swirls changing to nearly violent flicks as the tip of his tongue strives to push through the tight ring.

Claude moves his tongue restlessly, laving every sensitive spot there is. He pries the boys legs apart, forcing him to brace himself on the edge of the tub. Is he able to catch his reflection in the water? Does he enjoy being depraved and wanton, crying out for his butler to carry on?

"Ye-yes!" Alois groans as Claude presses his face into his bottom, lapping at the tender skin. His wicked tongue burns sensual patterns onto the boy's skin. The pleasure seems to rob Alois of his will, his body taut yet pliable. Claude could mold him into anything or simply melt him, reducing the little Earl to nothing. "Bugger!"

"Am I?" Claude huffs. He gives the boy's rump two even licks, the sight of obscene trails of his saliva filling him with a twisted sense of pride. "Then I may as well accept your earlier invitation."

Claude stands up, pressing the length of his body against his little master. He ruffles the straw-coloured hair, soft and lavender-scented from the previous night's wash. He nips on the tiny earlobe, letting his fangs scrape against it enough for a thrill of danger to shoot through Alois, turning his body stiff.

"Ah! Ah! Claude!" Alois pants, his nails scraping over the smooth edge of the tub.

"Press your legs together, master," Claude orders, grunting as the boy obliges. "Yes-s, that's it."

Tightly gripped by Alois's slender thighs, Claude pushes forward, testing how the smooth skin would feel rubbing against his length. Rather delicate and enticing, he must admit. Claude withdraws and drives forward, hissing as he grinds against the boy. So slick and inviting, yet only a fracture of how marvelous it would feel to sink his teeth in the boy.

"Claude!" Alois relaxes a little, realizing that this kind of assault will not bring him any harm. He reaches back with his uninjured hand, gripping the back of the man's neck. He fists his hand in Claude's hair, his body arching as he balances on the tips of his toes. "M-more," he mewls, thrusting back. Alois tries to cross his legs and wobbles. Claude tightens his grip around the boy's middle, pressing the writhing body flush against himself.

Claude rocks his hips, rubbing between those clenched thighs. Alois makes little noises of enjoyment, his voice raspy. Claude's name falls in staccato from his lips, in time with the swift movements. A prayer or a curse - it matters little. Claude growls into the boy's ear, breaking the chanting and eliciting the lewdest moan from him. He clasps the boys hand, making him release his hair. He presses his nose to Alois's palm, inhaling the reinforced fragrance of his skin, before giving it a lick, again and again. Alois gasps and coos in encouragement, spreading his fingers.

"Touch me, master," Claude instructs, pushing the boy's hands between legs. The tip of his cock jabs into the wet palm. "You know what to do." Alois quickly catches on. The tips of his fingers eagerly swirls around the blunt tip every time it pokes between his legs. "Good boy," Claude praises, biting onto his earlobe. "Such a diligent master I have."

“D-don't talk like that...”

“As you wish, your Highness.”

Claude has his hand wrapped around Alois's neck with the tips of his fingers digging into the boy's chin. Alois moans, the pitched sound so needy and wanton. He's hard, probably to the point where he aches. His prick slaps against the boy's vest with each thrust.  
  
Claude moves his hand, teasing Alois's mouth, his black fingernails such a welcome contrast against the pink swollen lips.  
  
"Please," Alois whimpers. "Oh please, Claude." His little tongue laps at those fingers, trying to get them into his mouth, begging for stimulation, anything to take his mind off the burning pressure below his navel. He forgets to move his own hand at times to fondle his butler's cock.

"Please what, master?"

"Y-you know... Ah! Bastard!" Alois yelps as his nipple gets pinched.

"I have warned you about profanities, have I not, master? It's below you to use your mouth like that."

Alois shuts his eyes. Claude is certain that a whirl of obscene images dances behind the boy's lids, born from the sinful purr of his voice.  
  
"C-claude!" Alois sobs, as clever fingers brush the spot just under the head of his cock. The touch against the taut skin is torturously light. "I've already... s-said please, Claude! Nngh..." Alois is panting. His nails dig into the man's thighs as he's maneuvered back and forth by strong hands. He's clearly desperate for contact, craving more. Truly insatiable. "What else do you w-want me... ah! to do?"

"As much as I appreciate my master's manners and politeness, I'm afraid I heard no clear request."

"Touch me, damn you!"

"Oh but I am touching you, master. Don't you feel me? My back against your chest, my lips against your ear? My fingers... on your cock."

Alois looks down to where he is grasped in a loose embrace of Claude's hand. Claude smells a burst of his arousal, the built up pleasure rising in the boy in an imminent wave.

Alois cries out, as a sharp squeeze at the base of his cock prevents him from spilling. He whines, shaking as he dangles on the edge of the desired release, the dull ache keeping him a hair away from it. The more frantic the boy becomes, the slower the touches get. Measured and devilishly light, they provide a contrast to the forceful slide of the man's hard length between his thighs. His balls are drawn up tight against his body and Claude's cock rubs against them in excruciatingly pleasant way.

“Mmrph.”

“So, you were saying...”

“Bedroom... take me... to the bedroom.”

“Ah. I wouldn't have thought master was a traditionalist.”

Claude eases him down. Alois turns immediately, dancing on his toes. He grips on the man's shoulder, trying to climb him like a monkey but having little luck without assistance.

“Claude!”

He picks the boy up, supporting his weight with just one arm. Alois throws his arms around the man, locking his ankles behind his back. He tilts his chin up, seeking reflection of his excitement in his butler's face. Alois sighs when he finds no reciprocation. He wiggles against Claude, the weeping tip of his cock smearing the sticky fluid between their bodies.

“Lay down, Claude,” he orders once they reach the bed. The game is quickly losing its taste for Claude, becoming a trivial scenario. “You've been so good to me,” Alois croons. A ridiculous statement all things considered, but the boy looks quite sincere. “I do believe you deserve a treat.”

Alois removes his vest and is slowly working down on the remaining fastened buttons of his shirt. He leaves it open, the fabric hugging his body. He shuts his eyes, sliding his hand from his shoulder to his chest and stomach, fingers stopping short of reaching his navel. The gesture is called to be seductive, but it looks almost chaste. Without his bright clothing and with his face so serene, the boy looks innocent. Yet when Alois glances back at him, the image promptly turns sinful. His eyes are oozing lust. The boy gets onto the bed, crawling up to the man, hips swaying gently. He would make a great imp with his appearance and actions so deliciously contradictory.

“Claude,” he murmurs, throwing one leg over the man's middle. He hovers over him, his legs squeezing Claude's sides. Alois drags his nails over the man's chest in swirly patterns. Claude should be irritated but he finds himself watching the boy closely, intrigued as to what his next move will be. “Mmm your skin is so smooth... so perfect.” Hasn't he received this compliment several times already? Alois's obsession with his exposed body is amusing nevertheless, especially since it was him who chose this form.

Claude is no stranger to being the object of bizarre fascination, which often turns lascivious. He never pursued it, turning down such offers. He finds them distasteful and comedic at times, not being that type of a perverse gourmet. The boy is more persistent than those before him, not taking the hints of rejection yet being so appalled at the suggestion of using an order to get what he wants.

Alois bends down and drags his tongue across Claude's chest. He raises his head, a cheeky smile playing on his lips as if he has made some kind of discovery. Alois ducks to flick the dark nipple before pressing his tongue flat against it. Claude sucks air in through his teeth when the sigil comes in contact with his skin. The sensation borders on pain, raking through him in a flash. The contractor wasn't meant to be using the mark to connect to its holder physically.

The jolt comes again, more violent compared to how it felt to have the boy's tongue on his neck. Claude throws his head back, trying not to disgrace himself by arching into the touch. The hot little mouth is wrecking him, putting him through the spiraling coils of rapture. Despite each of them being over in a torturous second, they burn him to the bone, leaving a depraved aspiration to experience it once more. Alois is happy to deliver, his tongue covering every inch it can reach. Claude slides his hand into the blond hair, gripping a fistful. He cannot decide what he desires more – to pry the boy off or to push his head lower, just to see if he would be able to survive through the brush of the seal against his most perceptive areas. The movement distracts Alois.

“How was it that?”

“I did not experience negative emotions in that regard,” he lies coldly. The idea of Alois realizing he had this power makes his skin crawl.

“Negative emotions, tsch. Do you even know what feelings are, hmm, Claude?”

“As your butler, I am aware of all the things I need to.”

“This is a typical butler situation, sure.”

“As your servant, I am at your disposal.”

“You make it sound so dry.” Alois wrinkles up his nose. “How can you remain so prudish when I'm on top of you?”

“Is master's presence bound to contaminate me with his mood?”

“You talk like we are at a formal event. I'm naked, have you noticed?”

Claude lets his gaze slide down the boy's form, lingering in the lower area.

“Had the spectacle measured up in prominence to my... tastes, I would have noticed it sooner.”

Alois gasps and swats him.

“Meanie,” he pouts. Such antics belong in a low-class brothel. He is about to inform his master of that, when Alois's mood swings back to playful.

"Look at me, Claude. Look only at me, like I'm the only one that matters," Alois demands. He sticks his tongue out, the seal glowing gold as if his ridiculous request could count as an order. Claude watches him nevertheless. The boy traces his swollen lips with his fingertips, his eyes suggestive. He process to stick one digit into his mouth. Claude shudders as the boy's finger grazes the contract seal.

"Oh, you like that?" Alois coos, popping the finger out of his mouth. He is probably referring to his lewd display and Claude be damned if he allows the boy to know the true reason.

Alois licks up his already most finger and grins as Claude twitches involuntarily. The brat could as well be massaging him with his tongue directly. Claude grabs onto the sheets, hoping he's discreet. The feeling isn't something he could easily get accustomed to. It's irritating and enticing and Claude throws all of his self control to remain stilted. The pleasure shooting through his nerve endings is impossible to fight.

Alois continues his performance, swirling his tongue around his fingers, occasionally moaning and closing his eyes. Claude wants to put him in place with an acidic remark. But he finds he can't. The boy's fingers stroke onto the seal repeatedly, alternating between displaying his tongue slithering around his spread digits and plunging them deep into his mouth to the point of gagging. The little Earl seems to deal with his gag reflex elegantly, not a single display of his discomfort as his fingers disappear in his mouth. The occasional wet sound is well masked by his sighs and coos.

Claude watches him hungrily. Each contact with the seal makes the heat in his stomach pulse and curl. It's almost as if the boy pierced him with a spear and screwed it deeper, titillatingly slow. Except that instead of excruciating pain comes the ecstatic bliss. Frankly, the former would be preferable. Claude hates how addicting it is. He loathes his desire for the boy to continue, allowing Alois to play him like an instrument. _He_ is the one meant to be playing, to wait and plot and set his webs until the time comes to consume his prey. Unacceptable. Claude props himself on his elbows to end it, grunting as another wave of pleasure ripples through him.

"Lay back, Claude," Alois tells him, a little breathless as if he put any effort in making his demon itch with want. He gives Claude's chest a little push, coaxing him back onto the pillows. "I said you could watch me, but I never ordered you to grab onto me."

Alois smirks and in that moment he looks like he's perfectly aware of what he is doing. With the boy perched on top of him, Claude's prick is trapped underneath his master's body, nested in the apex of his thighs. Alois senses it twitch. His lips stretch into a sly grin, satisfaction resonating in him. He pops his fingers into his mouth one last time. It's messier and less elegant. His digits are covered in the excessive amount of his spit.

Alois moves to stand on his knees, pushing his arm behind his back. His face loses some of the previous smugness. He is more concentrated, the determination making him drop the redundant flirtatiousness.

“What are you doing, master?” Claude asks, his voice leveled. It's obvious what kind of manipulation the boy is performing, from the strain in his shoulders to the hissing intakes of breath. Alois is too impatient and unskilled to treat it as stimulation instead of unavoidable necessity he's trying to get over with.

“You'll... see.”

“Is that so?” Claude's palms slide up Alois's thighs. ”May I be of assistance, if my master permits?”

“Ugh, no. I-i'll do it. I want to make you feel good, Claude.”

“I would not state I feel bad at the moment.”

“Then I would like to make you feel better.”

Quite arrogant for the boy to believe that permitting the demon inside his body is the greatest reward there could be. He is too self-absorbed to allow the idea of being undesirable. His carcass is just that – a slowly rotting package for a soul. Believing it could surprise him is nothing short of presumptuous.

Alois manages a weak smile despite his obvious discomfort on his face. The unsolicited sacrifice is flattering. The boy goes out of his way to please his unconditional servant. Claude finds the irony of the situation captivating.

Alois grips the man's cock firmly, guiding it between his buttocks. He tries to push against it, his face scrunching up at the pressure. It is not going to work.

“Why won't it fit? Ah. That bastard... it worked with him... I want so you badly, Claude.”

As if a mere want made up for the lack of lubrication and stretching. His erection subsides from the pain and the burn he must feel, yet Alois only grasps Claude's cock firmer, pushing against the thick blunt tip stubbornly. It does ease in, yet it cannot be pleasant. Alois bites onto his bottom lip, drawing blood. Tears start streaming down his face. He growls with pain, too proud to back off.

Claude pulls him down. He licks up the salty trails from Alois's cheeks, the flavour bursting on his tongue. He could make it ten times worse, extract every painful memory until the tears flow non-stop. Alois moans, mistaking it for affection. He presses his mouth to Claude's feverishly. The tinge of blood from his broken lip is enough to make Claude's head spin. He grunts, deepening the kiss, eager to get more of that exquisite taste.

Claude runs his fingers down the protruding vertebrae of the boy's back. He cups his thighs, stroking the velvet softness of his skin. Alois is so helpless. It would be so easy to break him in this moment, to violate that foolish trust and pull him down, impaling the boy on himself, soaking in his cries of pain. He enjoys that power, savours the knowledge of being capable of nearly anything, the possibilities bringing him as much satisfaction as the actions would.

“It hurts. I... I don't think I can do it.” Alois pauses. He squirms, resuming the previous position with Claude's length pressed securely underneath him. “Do you find me hideous?”

“Hideous?" Claude repeats. The boy's way of thinking is quite curious. What would he put in that word? As a human, he's bound to be primitive, but it's unlikely this bothers the boy. He isn't worse than any other of his kind Claude had come across. But he's certainly entertaining, he'll give him that.

"No," Claude decides.

"Even after this?"

"What does master refer to as _this_?" He leisurely strokes the boy's hips, fingers moving up to his sides and quivering belly. The simplest touch makes Alois's mouth fall open. He holds his breath, leaning forward, thrusting to draw attention to where he most needs the touch. Claude appreciates the irony of it - the boy practically shines under the polluting touch of a demon. His soul is a peculiar thing indeed. “There are many... other ways to pursue... satisfaction,” he lectures. Claude teases the boy's cock with a single finger. The light touch is enough to bring it back to hardness, a pearl of precum forming on the smooth pink head. “Sometimes, all it takes is a different way of thinking.” Claude squeezes their shafts together.

“Stop being so condescending,” Alois scoffs. “I'm not a child who needs guidance!” Contrary to the words, the little earl tries to discreetly wipe his nose, a gesture that makes Claude quirk his brows.

“Well then.”

Claude grasps the boys forearm and pushes him off. He rolls to the side, pinning Alois's body under his, squeezing his knee between the boy's thighs. The demon's left leg is draped across Alois's shins, but when the boy squirms, it slides down swiftly, pressing his ankles into the mattress.

“Claude,” Alois hisses. The anger is nothing more than an act as there is not a trace of fear or worry in his scent. “What's the meaning of this?”

Claude yanks his arms up, stretching them over his head and securing them in place with his hand. His movements are precise, fluid and effortless.

“Didn't you complain about being treated delicately? Surely an adult like you must be weary of playing and would rather cut to the chase.”

“What kind of logic is that?”

“A convenient one. A demon logic, shaped to fit the circumstances.”

“Claude!”

“Ah, master, you do love calling my name. Would you share whom it belong to before you gifted it to me?”

Alois grunts, turning his face away. Is he embarrassed to confess it or does it have too much pain linked to it? Unlikely, as it holds so much significance and erupts from the boy easily.

“Regardless, I want to hear it again. Say it, master. Call for what you wish so heatedly and what only I could give.”

“Nh-o. Stop flattering yourself.”

Stubborn little thing. Alois curls his fingers, trying to claw at the restricting hand. It makes his palm bleed, the red smears appearing in the handkerchief tied over it. Claude fights the chuckle that rises in his chest at the futile attempts. The Earl isn't the only one with claws here.

Claude moves his palm down the boy's side, raking his nails across the ribcage. He gets a handful of firm buttock, sinking his nails harder into the pliable flesh. Alois yelps. He lets out a shaky moan as the sting is kneaded away. Claude lifts and presses the slim body closer to his. His fingers sneak lower, fingertips playfully sliding down the cleft of the boy's pert little rear. He taps his digit against the tender circle of his entrance, still damp from the boy's saliva and slightly puffed up from stretching. Ah, he has definitely captured his master's attention now.

Claude returns his hand to his mouth, spitting in it briskly. He uses it to curl his fingers around the boy's shaft, slick and tight.

“C-Claude!” Alois rasps, mouth falling open. His whole length is caressed in quick efficient strokes, the pumps ending with a little flick of the wrist at the tip.

“That's better, master.”

“Ba-stard. Ai!” Alois yelps, when his prick is squeezed sharply as a payback for the name.

“Now, it wouldn't do to forget your manners, would it?” Claude tugs the skin of the shaft up until it covers the cockhead. He pinches the foreskin with his fingers, rolling it between his thumb and index finger, massaging the swollen head underneath.

“Oo-oh.”

“You didn't reply to my question, master.”

“Wha-... what question?”

The fingers resume their dance over the rigid engorged length and Alois eyelids flutter closed.

“About my predecessor.”

“C-claude...”

“Precisely.”

He watches the boy's face hungrily, drinking in the helplessness and the raw need. Not that he doubted the power he had over Alois, yet the sight is quite addictive. Claude changes the pace of his strokes, slowing down when the shaft in his fingers throbs and hardens further. He presses his thumb under the glans, rubbing the spot that has the boy shake in his clutches. Alois's reactions are predictable, he muses, scraping a nail under the ridge and smirking as the cry of painful joy hits his ears. Claude can be very convincing.

“It's just... Uhh...” Alois jerks when the demon's hot mouth closes around his Adam's apple. He throws his back, granting full access to the teeth and tongue that use any means of coaxing a confession out of him. He's trembling, basking in the attention he's getting. Claude bites the skin of his throat when he feels the boy is enjoying it too much.

“Claude,” Alois sobs, his cock twitching again, the dribble of sticky fluid gushing out onto Claude's fingers. The precum eases the slide of his fingers, the sloshing noise only winding the boy up. “There... there has never been anyone else, other than you. It's only you I desire, it's you I will always choose.”

Pathetic.

“Then open your eyes, master, and look at who you've chosen.”

Claude releases the boys arms, lifting himself off slightly. He fixes his unblinking stare on the boys contorted face, his right hand stroking him with determination. Alois writhes and thrashes, struggling to maintain eye contact. He holds onto the man's shoulders, hooking his legs behind the demon's back as if he was worried he would vanish.

“Claude – Claude – Cla-aude,” he chants, clawing at his shoulders with desperation. “Oh how I l-lo....uh.”

Alois cries out as his body spasms. He clings onto the man, hiding his sweaty face in the crook of the demon's shoulder, biting down to muffle his scream. He cums in several ropy strings, trembling uncontrollably. Claude guides him through it with confident quick pulls, draining out the last drops of pleasure from the boy. He snarls as the musky smell of the boy fills his nostrils, making the back of his throat itch and his mouth water.

Alois drops back onto the pillows, his body limp and relaxed. He wipes the sweat off his forehead, smoothing his hair back. He looks at the face of his butler, looming over him. Claude makes sure there is not a single emotion reflected on it, the usual detachment masking his hunger. Alois squints. His tongue darts out to moisten his plump lips. The boy appears debauched but not ashamed in the slightest. Claude wonders if he should bring it up later, taunting the Earl about the keens and mewls he made, becoming quickly undone by such a simple touch.

“Mmm, Claude,” he drawls, mischief in his voice layered thick. The pink tip of his tongue peeks between his teeth as he grins. Alois twists his finger in the lock of Claude's hair, wrapping it around. He tugs on it and pulls the demon lower. “Now, it's your turn to spill,” he whispers, the hot breath washing over the man's earlobe. Alois flicks it with his tongue as if to stress the words further. “That's an order.”

He giggles, pulling away and poking his tongue out to display the sigil which glows gold. As if Claude could have missed the meaning of an order.

“No, stay,” Alois requests when the man shifts to get in a better position. “Yes, it's also a command.” Claude's lower lid twitches but he refrains from arguing. “I like you on top of me like that.”

Claude moves to support his weight on his knee and his left hand, still hovering over the boy. He takes himself in his right hand, setting quite a zealous pace to get it over with. The still hot semen all over his palm substitutes for lube, assisting the glide.

“Mmm, so eager,” Alois praises, his hand stroking over the man's bicep and down his moving arm. “Is that how you like it?”

Claude does not honor that with a reply. His order didn't call for this kind of conversation so he won't bother talking. He puts as much loathing and despise into his stare as possible, but Alois meets it with a smile, unaffected. He props himself on his elbows, stretching his neck. Claude jerks his chin up and the kittenish licks meant for his mouth land on his jaw. The boy isn't discouraged and busies himself by proceeding to kiss the parts of Claude's face he can reach, sighing affectionately like a love-smitten fool. It's pointless and distracting, he just wants to focus on the task and avoid the contact's punishment for disobedience. Claude's lips twist. At least the boy didn't delude himself into thinking he has succeeded at making the demon lust after him.

Alois pulls back and sighs. He moves his hand over his chest lazily, plucking on his nipple as he watches Claude from beneath the lashes. He grins at the occasional wet sound.

“So Claude, what did you say about imagination?” Alois cocks his head to the side licking his lips in what he must believe to be a provocative display. “Can you imagine me... helping you perhaps?”

Claude watches the boy's tongue tracing his top lip, coating it with a glistening sheen of saliva. He grunts, thinking of how it would feel to have the contract seal flick against his cock.

“Don't hold back, Claude. All you have to do is just... ask,” Alois purrs, sticking the tip of his finger between his teeth.

Absolutely not. Claude detests the mere idea of asking for anything, humiliating himself with such a request. Alois smirks as if he could read his thoughts. The demon contemplates taking advantage of the offer in a different way.

Overpowering the boy would be so simple. He would put one hand in his hair, pushing on the back of his head until that face would be within his reach. He would smack those lips with his cock, wiping the smile away and transferring onto them the wetness from the tip. He would force himself in-between, testing how deep that mouth could swallow him before the boy gasps and chokes. Claude thinks he could spend himself on that pretty face and watch the milky drops slide down the flushed cheeks like an unholy mockery of tears.

Claude snarls with his release, the image being the final drop to push the tension out of his body. He pumps himself, panting but keeping quiet, riding out his pleasure to the last pulsing wave. Alois looks at down at the streaks covering him. He sticks his finger in the little puddle that gathered in the cleft of his chest, swirling it around before popping it into his mouth.

“You made a mess, Claude. How inconsiderate.”

“My sincerest apologies, your highness. I shall see to it immediately with your permission.”

“Huh. Do mend it.”

Claude bends down and drags his tongue across the narrow chest. He feels no taste yet there's a hint of tart sweetness as he gradually moves lower. Claude inhales deeply, the remaining fragrance of the boy's arousal still clinging to his now clean skin. He can feel Alois's eyes on him as he raises his hand to his mouth, cleaning up his semen-covered palm. The taste is more potent here, sweet and rather peculiar. It stirs some memories, but Claude still cannot recall consuming anything like it, even though he has long abandoned the idea of finding anything unique. Alois jerks upright with an impatient groan. He covers Claude's mouth, hot, impatient and greedy, licking his lips and tongue as if he longed to rob him of it.

“Claude,” he recites, cradling his face with unwelcome tenderness. “I lo-...” Alois's features harden and he pushes the man away. “I look forward to repeating it. Now go to your duties.” He pulls his shirt off, flinging it at his butlers face. “It's soiled. Must I remind you to do laundry each time?” The little Earl's voice is icy, nothing like the sultry moans and wicked words when he writhed beneath the demon. As if playing it down would erase that memory. “And do take care to dress yourself to fit the title of a butler.”

Alois dismisses him with a flick of a hand. That child is indeed a challenge to handle, Claude muses as he leaves his master's side. Unstable, spoiled and contradicting. Weak yet powerful enough to summon a demon. Sadistic and desperate for attention, yet turning away once he gets it.

Claude would not have it any other way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you like your own fic so much you write a rhymed synopsis for it.

_Come here. Kneel. You look so sour._

_What is the matter? Does the power_

_I hold to bend you to my whim_

_Has filled your patience to the brim?_

_How do those eyes of molten gold_

_So warm in colour stay so cold?_

_You hide behind the suit. That glove._

_The mask that won’t be pierced by love._

_I beg you, Claude, cease with that glare_

_It’s all your fault. It’s hardly fair_

_You blame me for my wish to conquer,_

_To tame you. Make you mine for longer._

_You swore to cater to my wish._

_So smile - and you’ll be off your leash._

_Yet you refuse. I hate your pride,_

_The scorn you won’t attempt to hide._

_And if I hit you, will you hiss?_

_I long to wreck you. I would kiss_

_The painful smirk. Feed on your rage,_

_Blood, sweat or tears. Yet your face_

_Is marble. Not a trace of passion._

_You are my sin. Yet that confession_

_Will be dismissed with blatant lie._

_You say you crave that Phantomhive?_

_I land a slap. My fingers burn._

_You squint and whisper “Now, my turn.”_


End file.
